Enter Unafraid

This withered crone is shaped by wisdom,
I am sure -- and the girls have nothing to fear.

It is a trade -- we can see the world a little differently
through the eyes of your girls --
and they can grow through the eyes of this 'wierd one'.

reposted from another Soul blog --

KNOWING

I hear a chime,
A distant, earthen chime.
It sings to me of
Loving hands,
In angel voice,
And peaceful days.

I hear a chime,
A whisper, stirring chime.
Of fire and stone and
Gleeful shapes,
In quiet breeze
It laughing plays.

I hear a chime,
A lonely, yearning chime.
In dark of night and
Thunderous storms,
Of fearful doubt
It endless prays.

…………………………………………

I sense a song,
A heart-bound, ancient song,
It calls to me in
Words of crone,
Wizard touch,
And simple ways.

I sense a song,
A shouting, trumpet song,
Of seed and blood and
Honored quest,
In vigil born
It girds my loins.

I sense a song,
A plaintive, wistful song,
In brightest day and
Chuckling clouds,
With loving mirth
It endless prays.

………………………………………………………………………

I know a dream,
A resounding, echoed dream.
It calls to me from
Tears of stars,
And soul's joy
That are the same.

I know a dream,
A living, blessed dream,
From now and when as
Innocence
In covenant
And simple gifts.

I am a dream,
A choice and loving trust;
A rebirth mem'ry of --
Of creation fire
And open hand
And trembling heart.

faucon

Masque Ball in the Boudoir

Baba has been thinking and when Baba thinks anything is likely to happen. She has been wary of all these artistic types who have descended upon her and has decided to test them a little. She is planning to have a Masque Ball in her Boudoir. Everyone is expected to come in full costume, make a grand entrance and amuse Baba with a short act. Is that a distant cackle I hear or that old rooster crowing joyfully?

Life Drawings - Baba Yaga

A lovely way to spend a Sunday. In partial sun life drawing one of the more interesting subjects I have had of late. She stood with gentle timeless curves deep in thought. Perhaps it was those thoughts that transformed her in my eyes from one drawing to the next. The image was not of one woman but all the women she had been during various parts of her life. Not just the more elderly woman who stands before me here.


I saw in her also the young woman full of promise, not yet worn out by life's obstacles. She was soft and gentle and danced in moonbeams and in front of delighted audiences, the young gypsy dancer. In her own right she was a draw at any box office in the Northern towns where she toured. Not perhaps the first string of dancers, but assuredly the second. She worked hard and was given respect and an income. Who could want more.



She had kept on dancing no doubt, past where she was really up to years of one night stands, at times mounting a production all by herself, making her opportunities where they did not just simply present themselves to Baba Yaga. To get a few extra gigs here and there she danced under various names and each of her performing persona took on solo performances. It is a wonder she could even keep her bookings straight. Then I could see slowly life wearing her down. It was no longer about dancing but in surviving what very often were some very unpleasant realities. Still she could muster a straight, strong back to face the next day, and the next.

At other times of desperation made her so tired she could not even stand up. Life is hard for someone living by heir wits. Talent does not always happily meet up with opportunities to put them to use. That is the very sad thing that by now those days are gone, and the great talent has been betrayed by a body that just simply can no longer keep up with the demands of just talent. Never having reached the stature of "star" performer no allowances would be made to help her earn a living through dance anymore. so she was back, just a gypsy doing gypsy trades, as her mother and grandmother had also done before her.

Life is etched on our faces by the time we are fifty, our bodies are no different. Aside from the lines of time and trouble many women, and Baba among them, have a poetic elegance that though changed by time still is a thing of beauty. I could not help adding this portrait as she sat deep in thought. Not just the sum of her years, but the sum of every emotion, experience and inherited trait. Each of us are precisely so unique not just because of out DNA but the life we live.

This is a simple child like representation of the witch and the black cat. I was amused by it and wanted to add another version of our Baba Yaga

I remembered this picture that Valerie took in the Mid-East and this broom seems appropriate here as Baba Yaga's broom. Now it is put aside for the moment while she attends to other duties.

More Life Drawings

It was a busy day at Baba's life drawing class. Le Enchanteur couldn't resist taking her clothes off and who is this woman with her? Heather really should keep her clothes on.

No Mind

WHY A POET

I don't really mind …
that I was assigned to bake a layer cake
with a recipe long proved incomplete,
and tasteless for all of that.

I no longer care …
that others only see the swirled frosting
and ordered placement of dainty rosebuds,
made of plastic and poison dye.

I am no longer bothered …
with instruction to look in a candy store
for rusting nuts and bolts and baling wire,
to hold my brief life together.

But I do mind a bit …
when I am so quickly judged perverse
for ordering key lime pie or ice cream
not found on the offered menu.

And do frown a might …
when told my only choices (lucky at that)
are 'tween dancing with sheep 'round a cesspool
or trudging with cockhold lemmings.

But I can still laugh …
for being a poet grants immunity
from excessive ridicule and punishment,
since you know that I am crazy.

The Adventures of Marie Guzman

Follow One Of Baba's Yaga's Guests...if you dare! In
The Hunt for the Main de Glorie


Baba Yaga's House is at the end of a road that isn't really there.

Baba's House finds you, when it wants you and if you're very lucky (as I have not been in my life) it won't want you for long.

I went to Baba's House because she stole my heart, she stole my dreams and she locked them inside of a crude little doll with a small strand of my graying hair sewn into it's chest.

We've been friends ever since.

Me and Baba...not the doll. I hate the doll, sometimes for no reason at all it starts to laugh and laugh and then it sings and that can go on for days. I use to hide it in drawers and in my attic and once I even climbed my cherry tree and tied it to one of the top branches.

It didn't work.

So I just leave it above my fireplace and when I'm not accidentally knocking it near the open flames or letting my cat play with it I'm able to ignore it when it starts to go insane.

Back to Baba, we have an understanding now and sometimes I go down that weird little road that appears out of nowhere...I can be on my way to the store, walking down the hall in m house to my bathroom and there it is...

The road to Baba Yaga's House

I don't talk much to Baba's guests, they're under some sort of weird enchantment and they drink tea from broken cups and eat food that if you ask me deserves a chance to run and be free like the rest of us.

I think Baba enjoys watching her guests devour food that's either too dead or not dead enough.

Well, Baba's sense of humor and her agenda are her own.

I have my own.

Right now, I want to know who stole my Main de Glorie.

I want it back because it’s mine.

You’d never believe what I went through to get it…to earn it.

She was waiting for me on the top of the steps in her basement which is as far as I will go into Baba's House...no sense in tempting the old witch, I escaped her once. I won't be as foolish as to think I could pull a stunt like that on any sort of regular basis.



" You're wasting your time here Marie " she told me from the top of the stairs " but you know that. You know who stole your Main de Glorie. After all, how many of his Couriers heads did you take and stake on the road to his Crypts? Seven...Eight? "

" It was 10 ...Count them Baba Yaga it was 10. And you couldn't stop even one of them from finding this road whenever they felt like it...I nailed 10. "

" And I'm grateful..."

I snorted and went ahead and laughed out loud.

" I need to find the road they took...and I need your help and don't double deal me Baba you owe me for each of those heads. This is for the first. Show me the road. "

" And if I don't? "

" All I need is the hand from a hanged man and all things being equal nowadays it can be a hanged woman and all they have to be besides strung up is guilty of murder. Tell me Baba how many bodies have you created in your long, long life? "

I heard her shuffle her feet and try to make her way down the steps to the basement and my neck then I heard her stop...where do you think some of those bodies she created are my Dear Readers? I was down in Baba's Private Cemetery and don't think the Hand I could take down here wouldn't be powerful...very powerful.

She'd never dare to come down here and stand next to me and don't think I haven't lost sleep trying to figure out how to get her to do just that.

" While you're down there de Guzman look to the Corner, the east Corner of the basement. The shovel is hanging on the wall. You're looking for a man with his eyes and mouth sewn shut. Take his heart you're going to need it. "

Baba buried the Silent Man deep.

I guess it was her conscious, black as it must be, at work because he wasn't six feet under he was almost 12 feet under and he was covered with rocks.

Talk about overkill.

I found him and cracked his chest open with one of Baba's many gardening tools she keeps for such purposes and carefully wrapped his heart in a white linen cloth.

Then I walked out of the Basement and into the back room of my Sister's funeral home in Leaning Birches and when I passed her in the halls she saw what I was carrying and she rolled her eyes up and walked the other way.

And then I got to work.


Stay tuned for the further Adventures of Marie Guzman!

Baba's Biographer

Baba's Biographer is at the market providing some insight into this fascinating woman. She writes that "The story of Baba Yaga is prime among many images of the Black Goddess. The Black Goddess is at the heart of all creative processes and cannot be so easily viewed. Men and women rarely approach her, except in fear. Women are learning of her through the strength and boldness of elder women who are not afraid to unveil her many faces. Sofia as wisdom lies waiting to be discovered within the Black Goddess who is her mirror image. Knowing that, until we make that important recognition, we are going to have to face the hidden and rejected images of ourselves again and again.

Read about Baba Yaga and let her be your guide during the coming weeks.

Baba's Life Drawing Class

Baba is modelling for life drawing classes. Consider:
"All that is left of her natural beauty.
Her skin is intact,
Her bones are as they are
No need of paint and powder
She is as she is no more, or less.
How marvellous."
Ikkyu (fifteenth century)

Green Leaves - Soul Hands

Thinking about soul hands --

-- the best choice for me

was right in front of me,

though I couldn't see for looking.

Going outside, inspired by a storm

and fallen Plane Tree twigs with leaves still green,

simple leaves?

They looked like reaching hands.

Silly?

Waited, not sure, but then

all came clear...what else, I thought?

I went out to choose the leaves,

cast from the trees that line the street,

in proliferation.

I bent to choose, them and carried them

off with pride, and a

passing wise man smiled.

copyright Monika Roleff 2005.

Skies Near Baba's Crowded

The skies above Baba's are full of traffic as travellers make their way to her house to work on the annual Advent Calendar. Going to the House of Baba Yaga will be like attending an artist's convention and Baba is, frankly, excited. She has her Soul Hands working their fingers to the bone to have the place ready for such distinguished visitors.

Amazon Queen Arrives at Baba Yaga's

The Amazon Queen has heard that Baba is organising the Advent Calendar this year and has 'all hands on deck'. So she has made haste to be at Baba's and help with the preperations. The Golden Spinning Wheel will be heard whirling late into the night.

The journey to my heart

My journey began long before I knew I was looking for something. One night I received an email asking me if I was ready to embark on a journey. I had no idea where it would go. It started with a list. Tired of carrying the weight of my life, I packed lightly with only what would fit in my little backpack. At daybreak, I met many travelers who were ready for such a journey as this.

I found a hidden door in a tree and was whisked away by a night ride in moonlight. Mysterious gypsies drew me with a silent call in the night. Some kind of enchantment made my dreams deep and meaningful. Before long, I woke each day excited to know what would happen next. The journey to an island brought memories I didn’t know I possessed. Ancient knowledge was revealed to me. How can my life ever be the same now?

I learned to proclaim who I am. I am no longer the invisible child! See me! Hear me! Understand my words! Slowly I have come to realize my own truth. That truth is to be free. Unburdened by my own past and my parents past. Just let it go and find what’s around that next corner.

I have met celestial beings. I have met wee fairies. I have met warriors of great strength and feminine mystic. I have met talking donkeys and talking dolls. I have met known hell raisers. I have been reintroduced to friends of old who knew me long ago.

And now I have learned to be open in a completely new way. My heart feels lighter than I ever remember it being. I have let go of old cryptic ideas. I have found a new road. The Silk Road. It winds through space and time; thoughts and dreams; mystery and magic.

Somewhere along the way I met myself. The child, the girl, and the woman I want to be. I was stunned to discover that I needed to make some changes. To hold my own hand and say, “Yes! We can do this.” Brick by brick I had to tear down my own walls and find an inner world rich with ideas waiting to be discovered.

At last, I am in an distant land with no water and no road. I have finally come to the last door. The one that was hidden away for safekeeping, so no one would find that brilliant light. The key is the secret that I hid in my own heart. It was a prisoner there that I bound tight. And through my journey the ties loosened. And fell away, until I could feel an ache of joy and freedom coming close. The key that spilled from my lips opened the door and released my spirit. Away I flew with magic wings. I saw a wild fire burning. The fire of my anger, my regret, my invisibility burning, burning, gone!